Dueling Dungeons (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter Four

Skirmish

After a blanket Fortification spell from Ick, Roark lead the party of heroes up a set of crumbling onyx steps and into the yawning black maw of the pyramid. Huge statues of jackal-headed men flanked either side of the entryway, a shepherd crook in on hand, a wicked hooked blade in the other. Eerie green torches had been placed at intervals down the entryway corridor. Their flickering jade flames reminded Roark of the burung lamps that had been common in Traisbin before Marek conscripted or killed all the wizards who made them.

The sound of skittering legs echoed off the stone as they crept down the hallway. Mac growled low in his throat, then turned invisible, the enormous visual distortion waddling up the wall and hurrying ahead to investigate.

They didn’t have long to wait. As they passed between a pair of doors leading to smaller chambers, Roark caught sight of Mac’s shimmering form dropping from the ceiling to land with a crunch on a scorpion the size of a Changeling. Its shiny brown exoskeleton shattered under the weight of the Adolescent Turtle Dragon, and yellowish goo shot everywhere.

“Oh, shit!” PwnrBwner yelled. “Look out!”

A rasping hiss and the rustle of chitinous legs filled the air with hair-raising noise as wave after wave of smaller scorpions—none larger than a dagger—scurried out of the crushed exoskeleton and swarmed the walls and ceiling, leaping onto the invaders. The heroes shrieked and began attacking with blunt weapons and spells with a wide area of attack.

Several of the stinging creatures fell on Roark’s head and shoulders. Their spiny little feet ran across his skin as they lashed out with their venom-dripping stingers. He flinched away from the needlelike stabs. His filigreed health vial appeared, but remained full.

[Infernal chimeras are invulnerable to Fire Spells and Poisons! You have resisted Potent Black Fire Venom from Level 16 Black Fire Scorpling!]

The text repeated itself over and over with every attack by the little sods. His armor wasn’t gifted with the same invulnerability, however. Wherever the venom dripped, it ate holes in the leather. He glanced around, finding the same happening to solid plate on several of the heroes.

Roark shook out his wings, sending dozens of the creatures flying, then turned a clawed hand on the writhing swarm clicking across the closest wall and unleased a roaring blaze of Infernal Torment.

Immediately, violet flames filled the corridor, roasting the Black Fire Scorplings in their own shells. They screamed and popped in small showers of viscous gore. As expected, the Fire-aligned Scorplings were extremely weak to his Infernal Magick.

“Sick!” PwnrBwner blasted the Scorplings with a purifying fire Roark assumed came from his Cleric’s main spells. “Die, you desert spider-shrimps with tails!”

All around, heroes stomped on the Scorplings, crushing them with the blunt faces of warhammers, or blasting them with potent attack spells. Mac lumbered through the creatures, alternately trampling them and snapping them up in his wickedly long fangs, swallowing them down in hungry gulps.

Insectile throat singing rose above the din as Ick directed a brilliant silvery blast of moonlight at a fresh wave of the Scorplings. The cold, resonating light shook the air, and when it disappeared, all that was left of the clawed swarm were dusty ash piles.

Roark kept up a steady stream of the Infernal Torment, roasting them by the bushel. Clearly, these Fire-aligned creatures were like the low-level Stone Salamanders and Reaver Bats scattered throughout the upper levels of the Cruel Citadel—affiliated with the dungeon, but of a different Primal magick track than its Dungeon Lord.

Between his own potent magic and the Poser Owners, the corridor was soon clear of everything but mangled Scorpling corpses. Everyone except for Roark and the Blood Sorceress had been envenomated, and the Ronin and NecroKnight both had blunt force trauma from their fellow heroes swinging weapons without looking in such a small space.

Roark let out a pent-up breath. That had been a proper bit of chaos. It was going to take more than just a decent attack strategy to get these heroes to work together effectively. He made a mental note to direct them more closely in their next skirmish.

Aloud, he said, “Heal up now. Those Scorplings were just the first line of defense.” Thinking through it as a Dungeon Lord instead of a raider, he reckoned they were likely meant to reveal what sort of weapons and spells invading heroes had access to. That would allow the master of this place to scramble his troops more efficiently and tailor traps to better wound stragglers.

While Antidotes and Ultimate Healing Potions from Zyra’s alchemy shop were being passed around, Roark scooped up a few of the less damaged Scorplings. The armor-melting ability of their venom was highly intriguing, but even without that, Zyra would love them.

Once everyone had returned to full Health, they searched the chambers to either side of the hall. The sarcophagi and urns were all emptied.

“One of the other guilds got here first,” the NecroKnight whined. “There’s no loot here at all. You said this place was the jackpot.”

Roark opened his mouth to answer, but PwnrBwner spoke up first.

“Why don’t you cry about it some more?” PwnrBwner said. “It’s down here. If we can’t take it out of the chests before they do, we’ll take it off their corpses once we slap ’em down.”

The twang of a crossbow by the doorway cut through the argument.

“Incoming players,” GothicTerror hollered from her lookout post. She cranked another glowing bone bolt into her Wraithpiercer and fired it down the corridor. “Looks like Karma’s jerkwads.”

“Form back up,” Roark ordered. “You three come with me,” he said, pointing at the Blackguard Knave, a shifty-looking rogue with a smoky gray cloak, and the Blood Witch.

He stepped out into the hall, stretching his wings until they spanned the space between the walls.

Down at the end of the corridor, a party of heroes were just coming out of a junction.

“Is that a Troll?” one of them asked. “There aren’t supposed to be any Trolls in the Onyx Sands.”

“IDFC what it is,” another answered, raising a jewel-studded staff. “Kill it, and let’s get back to clearing this stupid maze.”

A blast of chain lightning hurtled toward Roark from the staff. He threw up a shimmering Infernal Shield, deflecting the spell.

“You three,” he hissed to the heroes he’d brought with him, “get to the far room. When they follow me, you’ll be able to catch them in the crossfire.”

The Blood Witch sprinted across the hall hidden behind his wings, and the Blackguard and cloaked rogue stealthed to the opposite side, close on her heels.

“It’s not working,” snapped the lightning-thrower.

“No duh. Don’t send a glass cannon to do a tank’s job,” muttered a rog in heavy Obsidian plate mail. He hefted a huge crescent axe with glowing fire runes spiraling down the heft and broke into a lumbering run after Roark. “Let’s go heavy-hitters!”

A Blessed Sentinel and Feral Druid charged in behind the rog, flanking him. As she ran, the Druid let out a roar, her skin ripping from her body as she transformed into an enormous slavering bear with blazing red eyes and wicked glowing blue claws.

Roark held his ground for a moment, then let out a shout of Infernal Thunder. The entire pyramid shook, black sand filtering down from cracks in the ceiling. The rog and Sentinel stumbled, but the bear stampeded right over them. All three took hits to the red bar over their heads—unfortunately in the case of the rog and bear, those hits were little more than a sliver of their overall health. These were high-level bruisers all right, and Rorak didn’t have the many advantages of his dungeon to fall back on. But he was a force to be reckoned with even without his traps and minions to call on.

Pulling his Slender Rapier and a Kaiken dagger—fighting Spada e Pugnale—Roark backpedaled until he was just past the doorways. He cast Infernal Torment on the bear, wreathing her in a violet halo of pain, making sure to maintain concentration.

Infernal flames crawled along the creature’s furry hide, tongues of magick clawing at her eyes and boring into her open mouth. The bear shifter roared in agony, but didn’t slow even for a moment.

Roark triggered Hex-Aura and dropped into a defensive stance. This would be no small impact. But at least Hex-Aura would affect the closest heroes.

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Hex-Aura

Those who would dare lash out at the Hexorcist best be ready to taste the sting of Cursed! retribution. The caster emits a 30-foot-radius aura, which moves with them for the duration of the spell and affects all allies in the area. Enemies take .5n Damage (where n equals character level of the Attacker) when they deal physical melee damage to those protected by Hex-Aura. Hex-Aura is a level 6 spell and can only be inscribed in level 6 spell slots; Duration, 6 minutes.

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The huge dread bear crashed into Roark like a battering ram, biting and snarling, and generally acting as if it couldn’t care less about the damage it was taking. They tumbled backward in a heap, Roark skidding on the stone. He stabbed and slashed at the beast, but even with the Hex-Aura, its Health was draining at a frustratingly slow pace.

Somewhere on the other side of the two-ton mass of fur and fangs, Roark could hear the clash and shouting of a well-timed ambush. Excellent. Spells lit up the corridor in a variety of colorful explosions. He hoped the rest of these rival guild members died faster than this bloody bear.

The slavering creature sank its enormous fangs into Roark’s shoulder and shook its head like a dog with a bone.

[You have contracted Joint Rot! You will take 5 disease damage per second for 30 seconds. All Lockpicking, Stealth, and Backstab Skills reduced by 12.5%. Consume a Panacea Potion to reverse Joint Rot and its effects.]

Roark blinked away the text, gritting his teeth against the sudden spike of pain, and drove his dagger to the hilt in the bear’s left eye. The beast bellowed, rearing back and slashing at him with razor sharp claws.

Out of nowhere a wavering, high-pitched yowl reverberated through the pyramid.

“Crap, it’s back!” someone screamed.

The rattle of dry bones joined the din.

The bear glanced over its shoulder with its one good eye, Roark’s dagger still protruding from the other like a cancerous growth. Roark took the opportunity to slash the creature’s throat. Hot blood showered him. In seconds, its Health bar had dropped below half.

Down the corridor, heroes shrieked, and something let out a howling screech like a cornered maka-ronin—the king of the wolves.

The muffled sound of flesh ripping seemed to rise above the racket.

Blue-white lightning crackled, making the dim hallway strobe with light, tattooing distorted shadows against the walls of the crypt. The bear roared and whipped away from Roark, going after the Adolescent Turtle Dragon that had attacked it. Roark didn’t waste the opportunity.

As the bear and Mac battled, he stowed his rapier and pulled out his Initiate’s Spellbook. The tome floated over his left hand, sending the familiar numb tingling down that arm. Without a moment’s hesitation, Roark found and cast a Level 5 Stone Lance.

The massive projectile ripped from the palm of his free hand and impaled the bear, pinning it to the wall. The last of the bear’s Health drained away, and it shrank back to the guise of a petite, and very dead, Feral Druid.

Roark cast Infernal Invigoration on the hallway. He and Mac were the only Infernal creatures in the vicinity, but they both needed the boost. Mac was covered in lacerations and deep puncture wounds. Obviously the Adolescent Turtle Dragon had been tangling with something nasty even before he attacked the bear.

“Little help, Griefer?” PwnrBwner yelled.

Roark squeezed past Mac toward the pitched battle just down the hall. For the moment, both guilds of heroes had stopped fighting one another and turned their weapons against a colossal skeletal cat hung swathed in decaying linen wrappings.

The [Sacred Bastet] ripped into every hero it could reach, barbed claws shredding armor and flesh and bone alike.

Finding an empty Level 8 spell slot, Roark hurriedly inscribed a spell. With a flash, it took.

[Congratulations, you have inscribed Grasping Vines in the Initiate’s Spell Book!

Grasping Vines can be cast (1) time per inscription!

Base Damage: N/A

Grasping Vines burst from the ground, ensnaring enemies up to 2x caster’s Strength.

Cooldown period between casting Grasping Vines and re-inscription: (2) hours!]

He bolted down the corridor and cast his newly inscribed spell at the Sacred Bastet. With a bright flash of green light, snaking ropes of dark vine erupted from the floor, tangling in the creature’s boney remains.

“Hit it with Light!” Roark barked, voice booming even over the din of battle. “It’s Undead!”

PwnrBwner was the first among them to understand, switching to the Light-Enchanted exploding arrows Roark had smithed in preparation for his last bout with Aczol the Eternal. The explosions rocked the corridor, taking enormous chunks off the Sacred Bastet’s Health.

The Poser Owners quickly caught on and joined the fray with the Light-Enchanted weapons Roark had lent them.

While they battled the huge Undead cat, Roark pulled his Bow of the Fleet-Fingered Hunter and began picking off the heroes of Bad_Karma’s guild. He dropped three before the rest even realized they were being set upon from all sides. The heroes desperately tried to retreat, but the Blood Witch froze the blood in their veins, locking them in place while the Blackguard Knave and the smoke-encircled rogue finished them off with brutal, merciless efficiency.

Finally, the last hero from the Karmic Cycle of Whoop-Ass was sent for respawn, their bodies decorating the floor in bloody heaps.

A moment later, the Sacred Bastet exploded in tsunami of cancerous green light and a shower of bone shards. PwnrBwner and several of the Poser Owners took shrapnel damage for the trouble, but all survived the blast.

“Balls!” PwnrBwner muttered, picking fragments of bone out of his face. “I contracted Bone Fever. Anybody got an extra Panacea?”

GothicTerror smirked and handed over a flask filled with something burbling and blue.

“If all this shit’s Undead, I’m not going to need it,” she said. “I’m Immune to Diseases of the Grave.”

“Hooray for you,” Pwnr said before swigging the draught. “Nice move on the vines, Griefer.”

Roark nodded. “Glad to see you’ve got a few Ray of Sunlight arrows left.”

“Hell yeah, these things are legit.” The Ranger-Cleric threw the emptied potion flask over his shoulder and it shattered among the bones. “Okay, dillweeds, Uncle Pwnr promised you loot, you got loot. Let’s get these corpses emptied so we can see what else they’ve got up in this bitch.”